Origin
by Odyssion
Summary: [KakaSasu drabble] Sometimes it's impossible to tell where one thing ends and another begins.


**Origin**

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own Naruto.

_Author's Notes: _This… I just got to thinking about how the townspeople got rid of all those bodies after the Uchiha massacre, and then my KakaSasu muse kicked in and made this a variation of how they met. I wasn't going to post it, but then I thought what the hey.

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There are shadows in the deep recesses of his heart, a coin in a crack where it is too small to reach.

"I've received your request. Are you sure you wish to be released?"

His palms are itchy. The remains of a now tepid liquid is sliding down his neck, crawling its way towards his collar and under his skin. The man in the mask thinks that it's the brain matter of the last enemy he slew before he was called to the meeting, but there's nothing he can do about it now. There was never anything he could do in the first place.

"Yes, sir." The shadows on the wall are listening to every word.

The other man sighed. "Very well. I can't say I'm pleased, but I have no right to stop you." He pauses. "You are hereby relieved of duty. I expect all your previous mission reports and pending mission outlines to be destroyed immediately. You are under direct orders to use the utmost discretion."

The gore on his neck reaches his shirt and attaches itself to the material. He knows it's another stain he will never be able to get out, but discretion is a word he is far too familiar with.

"Thank you, sir." When he turns to leave he never looks back, knowing full well that the shadows are dancing.

-----

His shovel hits the ground rhythmically, an echo of its predecessor, as fluid as the motion of a wheel. He bends, leans his weight on the handle, then lifts and throws the damp soil over his shoulder. Droplets of water beat down on him furiously as his breath mists in the stagnant air. Whether the ground is wet from rain or blood he doesn't deign to know.

He can't explain why he volunteers for this. Part of him argues that it's the right thing to do, the nice thing to do, but he knows that's not his truth. There are dozens of volunteers and dozens more bodies, but he has no justifiable business with the Uchiha clan. As if to chase him away, thunder rumbles a warning that he ignores as the rain continues to fall in torrents onto the earth. _As much rain as there is blood._ Had there been others with him he may have welcomed the respite and solitude, but it had been hours since sunset and he had been alone for much longer than that.

For all the people he's seen buried, this is the first time he's dug a grave. The saturated soil threatens to overflow, to refill his efforts with failure, but it never quite topples as he expects. It is in the next flash of lightning that he glimpses it, a pair of ghost-white feet that wander the ruined corridors of the compound. Thunder tumbles down like the beat of a drum and the apparition stills, watching. The boy that looks down from him in the next sudden light seems no more substantial than a dream.

He only has time to see dark hair – soaked - melted into porcelain skin and dark eyes that hold nothing but accusation. The darkness returns and consumes them. By the time his vision clears, there's nothing left but breath-stained mist where a phantom used to be.

But since phantoms didn't breathe, he could only assume that the boy was merely human.

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There are shadows in the deep recesses of his heart, a message in a bottle that is impossible to reclaim.

When he collides with his fears, there is an eruption of sparks that leaves him staggering in its wake. He feels as if he has been sleepwalking the last few years, moving from one room to the next without ever knowing why. It is a long time before he discovers the source of his ailment and is able to name it with all the certainty of omnipotence.

"Sasuke."

The body turns stiffly, as if reluctant to digress if only for a moment, reluctant to glance behind at an unseemly past marred by tears.

"Yes?"

At 13, Sasuke has neither the luxury of childhood nor the insight of maturity. Kakashi opens his mouth to say more, but that's as far as they ever get because in the end he's still unsure if the mist was simply part of his imagination.

-----

Some things are easier to face with a mask. When Orochimaru is killed and the killer is unknown, his feet follow the shortest path to the Uchiha compound. The sky is dark and teardrops fall heavily from the sky. In his mind, the rain practically flows in that direction.

He stops himself in the mud and waits as the raindrops crash down. Sasuke will have sensed his presence minutes earlier if he didn't anticipate it at all, but he highly doubts Sasuke doesn't anticipate anything anymore. This time he watches closely as the figure appears, searching for signs of life, searching for signs of death.

"Sasuke."

He is pleased to note that the young man stands with his left leg held slightly back, exposing the more familiar right side of the body. There are other things, too – a tilt of the head, a slight curl of the fingers – small gaits and characteristics he is pleased to have instilled. But it is no time for a teacher's pride, a feeling of fervent satisfaction closest to happiness as he has been able to muster.

"Kakashi."

He failed to notice when the honorary suffix had been dropped from his name, but lately he was finding that all his work with Sasuke aside from physical training was terribly lacking.

"You didn't have to do it."

The sound that claws itself from that pale throat resembles nothing human, but Kakashi is forced to admit that it is a sound of scorn.

"Don't tell me I didn't do Konoha a favour." Sasuke pauses, shifting his weight. "Isn't that what you've come to ask of me, Kakashi – a favour?"

The lines blur into one and he is once again surrounded by dead bodies and undug graves. Lightning flashes and the boy is gone again, only this time he has only been displaced. Kakashi doesn't remember when he taught Sasuke his ninjutsu and taijutsu combination, but he can't doubt its efficiency as he is rendered defenseless with a kunai resting by his throat.

His lips are parched despite the rain. "I'm asking you not to go."

Thunder rumbles, and he can only imagine the look on Sasuke's face. He imagines that those eyes now hold nothing but despair.

As if the truth is too much to bear, Sasuke avoids the question completely. "You dug graves for them," he whispers softly, "but who will dig a grave for you?"

The question makes him smile despite himself. "Gai, I suppose."

The blade at his neck digs deeper, but he continues anyway. "Sasuke, I wonder if you've ever asked yourself that same question?"

There is a quick jab at the base of his skull, and he can feel the strength leaving him as a pale figure departs. His will simply be another body that rests on blood-soaked soil, another sin heaped onto a name that has evaporated like mist.

Thunder rumbles, and the rain keeps on falling.

**END**

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